


Rules for a Reason

by digitalduckie



Series: Falloutverse: The Man in Black [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Decapitation, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, M/M, mention of slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalduckie/pseuds/digitalduckie
Summary: Royce sets up Redeye with a task in an effort to flush out the raiders who attempted to kill him.





	1. Audience Participation

On any given day, Redeye could muster up enough energy to lament the loss of his broadcasting privileges. There wasn't a single soul in the parks who wasn't aware of how the Overboss had taken his very raison d’être; a phrase some of the other raiders were certain he had learned from the boss himself. Yet despite such misfortune, he found alternatives.

Performing between the market and gauntlet or around the lakeside fountain provided a much smaller range but proved more engaging and personable than even taking requests and reading messages on the air had been. While they had the option of wandering away, they also had the pleasure of audience interaction. What the other raiders didn't know was that it was Royce's idea.

“You still can’t use the radio.” Royce sat at the edge of the bed, cigarette in hand and an open notebook in his lap. The two did a lot of their talking in bed post-coitus as if it were their own form of drafting contracts.

“Like hell, Boss. Why not? If I use the radio, they’re gonna hear-”

“They will hear and so will everyone else in a four mile radius of the parks.”

“Four miles?” Redeye perked up. The pride on his face met with the stone wall that was Royce’s disdain.

“That’s hardly any better than a ham radio, Russell. Regardless, it’s a risk to let outsiders catch wind of internal strife. It makes us look vulnerable.”

“But aren’t we?” Redeye shuffled across the bed until he was sitting beside Royce. It wasn’t a guess he was certain he could voice. The parks and the raiders in it put on a show, but as Colter had gotten lax and Royce had claimed the title of Overboss for himself, Redeye had to admit that things were difficult.

“We’re in transition.” Royce nodded. “Why do you think I’ve been working so hard to get effective power to Nuka Town? Why I’ve been setting up the foundations to cover our most basic needs?”

“Because you’re smarter than the rest of us.”

“You don’t have to flatter me to get another round, Russell, but you will have to wait.” Royce closed up his notebook with a smirk. He didn’t need to be told how he measured up against the other raiders. In fact, Royce Martin told everyone else where they stood and made sure they knew it. It was why they were making these plans.

“So if I can’t use the radio, how am I gonna bait them?”

“Street performance.” Royce grinned.

Redeye didn’t have it in him to stop Royce from sharing a brief history of oral storytelling among the human race as if it provided some motivation. He began to tune it out in favor of watching the man’s mouth move and the gestures he made with his hands. That alone did more to encourage compliance with the idea to sit out in the heat of the day with his guitar tucked under his arm and more than a few jeers in his direction.

By the fifth afternoon, Redeye had yet to notice anything that Royce had deemed important. Nothing but the generous ten caps that were tossed his direction by passing traders. When he regaled Royce with the tale of strangers that appreciated his musical stylings enough to actually pay him for it, without any prompting whatsoever, the boss simply pocketed the earnings for himself.

“Try performing in the evening. The average raider’s proclivities post-sunset leave them in pliable conditions that would favor our efforts.”

“Shit, Boss. You gotta learn to speak English.”

“Maybe if you read more books of substance, you could follow. But fine, I’ll spell it out. They’re more likely to be drunk. Or doped. So, play outside Cappy’s and catch someone who feels like oversharing.”

In the past, the bar had been one of Redeye's favorite places in the park. Plummer kept an amplifier in the corner that made sure everyone in the small space knew exactly what they were listening to. It pulsed his songs and his voice right through their bodies and into the depths of their bones. It sent them staggering with ringing ears onto Main Street as they searched for their next good time, all the while humming one of his songs. At least that's what he assumed.

With his station off the air however, Cappy’s was only as loud as rowdy intoxicated raiders could make it. Redeye sidestepped to narrowly avoid a Pack member thrown by a punch from a fellow member. He whistled low as he assumed a story of rebuffed affections or a bad game of cards before he made his way through the crowd to the counter and barkeep.

Plummer was a spry older woman who had a pair large enough that none of Colter’s men had been able to get a collar on her. Perhaps it was her commanding presence that kept the raiders civil enough to actually pay for her goods and thus the steady income gave her no reason to retaliate against them. Redeye liked to think she reminded him of his mother but on his drunkest nights he began to wonder how accurate that was.

Flashing a grin, he leaned an elbow on the counter. “Hey Ms Plummer!”

“You get your elbow off my counter before I shoot it off, Redeye.”

“Gimmie a beer.”

“Elbow. Off.”

“I was thinking of providing some live entertainment.” He complied with her demand though only to pull the guitar from his back to illustrate his offer with brief erratic strums.

“Didn't you lose your station for a reason?” She raised an eyebrow as she pried the cap off an unlabeled bottle. It was very likely brewed right in the back. And in a rush. But there were few options available at the park and demand was high.

“Ah well you know I needed a break anyway. It's good to get out on the road, meet the fans, all of that.” He reached for the drink but Plummer pulled it back.

“I hope your little concerts have earned you at least ten caps for your beer.”

“As a matter of fact, they have!” Redeye beamed with genuine pride as he stuck his hand into one pocket and then the other. The beam faded as he turned to patting himself down and even turned his guitar over, shaking it in hopes it would rattle with a secret stash. “Shit.”

“I’ve got this one.” From his right, a Disciple slid a small pile of caps across the counter, appeasing the bartender.

The majority of the Disciples were female and though Redeye had no preference himself, he always appreciated the potential a drink at the bar provided. As he took a swig, he looked her up and down. She wore one of those masks that covered her face with a scarf draped around her head, but she had a pair of ruby red lips that tugged at the corner and set off warning sirens. Warnings he ignored, leaning once again against the counter.

“Hey, thanks. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“I prefer homicide.” He had never heard anyone literally purr the word before.

“Well I ain’t…” he licked his lips, smacking them together as the warning sirens grew more insistent. “I ain’t looking to die tonight.” The uncomfortable chuckle he added to the end was matched with her own laughter, head thrown back and overly enthusiastic. Another swig of his beer was a welcome distraction.

“What a pity.” She feigned disappointment before dragging a fingertip down the front of his shirt and back up. “Maybe, if the evening pans out, we can try the next best thing.”

All warnings went out the window of his mind and Redeye nodded, tongue firmly pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Oh, it is the best thing, trust me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard you sleep with the boss. You must be a big hit.” She leaned in closer and he could smell the rotten tang of blood on her.

“Damn right.” Redeye grinned. “I get him begging for more. Every time. He’s just like ‘Oh Redeye, you’re so fucking good at this. Your dick is so big and-’”

“Word for word?”

“All of it’s true. Especially the part about my big dick.” She stared at him in a manner he assumed was incredulous. It was difficult to tell when all he could see was her mouth. “Okay, fine. Maybe not word for word, but we do fuck and he never complains.”

“Perfect.”


	2. What's Your Kink?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's pretty vanilla for a Disciple.

Even hours after the sun had nestled below the horizon, the heat of the day could still be felt. Thick and heavy with humidity, the occasional breeze blowing into the Fizztop Grille did little to move the air around. Royce had stripped down to his undershirt, going over his books and the day’s reports by candlelight at his desk. It all started to blur, numbers jumping lines and words running into each other as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, arms stretched above his head for a moment before he gave himself a few energizing pats to the face. It had to be nearly two in the morning. If he was ever up so late, he was either on the road or otherwise preoccupied by company. The bed, however, was empty.

Redeye should be outside Cappy’s Cafe, playing the crowd for more than a good time or a few caps. He needed information. Anything they could get that would help them set a trap for the raiders who had seen fit to make an attempt on his life. But the bar was too far down the street for Royce to see clearly from the Grille. The park was too dark and though the air was still enough, he couldn’t make out even the faintest hint of music in the distance.

“You have one more hour, Russell.”

\-----

Many knew yet few believed the story Redeye would tell about the time he beat out a massive raider in a drinking contest. His lean figure and penchant for boasting did little to support its plausibility. The fact that he was stumbling along the path he was led was misrepresentation in his mind. The four beers he had would hardly be enough to throw his balance to the extent that it seemed. No, this was the fault of the Disciple forcibly pulling him along, no doubt eager for a taste of what the overboss had been dipping into.

“Hey, slow down baby. We got plenty of time.” His suggestion fell on deaf ears as she took a sharp turn down a narrow alley between a pair of buildings.

“No really, right here's just fine if you want.” He pulled her back to himself, wrapping his arms around her waist and putting on his best smirk.

“Hunny, the things I want to do to you can't be done here.” She crooned in response, leaning in so close he could almost kiss her. The weight of her body pressed against him briefly before she turned away toward an unassuming door.

Most of the former shops, offices, and employee spaces had been re-purposed into homes for all of the raiders living at the park. Some were shared and others were lucky enough to have something more private. It was all a matter of staking your territory. Yet the pair went up two flights of stairs with no sign of occupation in sight.

“This place is empty, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I bet no one would even hear us up here.”

“Oh,” she turned her head back over her shoulder. “You can try.”

Everything was dark and dusty, not even a drop of the Disciples’ signature ‘decor’ on a single surface. The truth was, that fact served to ease Redeye’s mind. Sure there was no one around, and it wasn’t likely anyone would hear them and interrupt, but at least it wasn’t a slaughterhouse. Reaching the top of the stairs meant they were close and when she let go of his hand, he set his guitar against the wall and began to unbutton his shirt. He didn’t want to waste a single moment when she finally led him across the threshold of an old prewar storage room.

The room was a maze of boxes and crates, trunks and tins and lockers, everything stacked at least five feet high. They zigged and then they zagged and by the time he was shrugging his shirt off, she stepped aside to reveal a mattress on the floor by one wall. It, too, was free of blood and he was all too happy when she pushed him back onto it.

“Easy, baby. I’ve had a few. Not too many of course. I ain’t gonna have any issues or anything. Hell, I can go like, five rounds if that’s what ya want.”

“I’m sure you could.” Her voice sounded less sultry but her body did all the talking. She knelt down over him and took hold of his wrists, lifting his hands up over his head.

“You really take charge, don’t you? If that’s your bag, I’ll do whatever you want. Well, most anything. I ain’t going to like- whoa, no.” He chuckled. “That would kill the mood just talking about it but sure, we can start with some handcuffs.” Each end of the cuffs snapped into place around his wrists, binding him to an exposed pipe on the wall.

“How about you start by shutting the fuck up already.” Her mouth was a hard scowl that sent his enthusiasm directly into the trash bin as she forcibly drew his bandana up into his mouth to gag him. “You’re even more obnoxious in person.”

The anger of betrayal and personal insult rushed forward, trampling any sense of embarrassment at having fallen for such an obvious trap. Redeye spat out a string of curses and slurs and though they were muffled, he knew she could tell what each and every word was.

“It took you long enough. I thought you were going to bring him intoxicated.” A second Disciple rose from her seat upon a stack of crates in the shadows, deflating Redeye’s anger and letting the embarrassment rule.

“I spent forty fucking caps trying! I wasn’t going to waste anymore.” The first Disciple stepped back from their captive and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh poppet.” The second was taller and affectionate, stroking the back of the first’s scarf as she looked Redeye over with her own twisted smirk. “Our goal has no price tag: The reward is priceless.”

“I’m still going to need five showers.”

“Of course. We have time.”


	3. It's Hard to Find Good Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce finds out why Redeye is slacking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back over this, it occurred to me that a portion was missing. I'm not sure how that happened or why. If I had originally omitted it or simply forgotten it. It's included, now.

Morning came and went. Royce’s coffee and cigarette was finished in relative silence, disrupted only by the arrival of his breakfast from the kitchen cook. In routine fashion, Gage arrived to discuss the day’s plans. A walk through review of the keg storage, personal interviews with potential runners for the excess soda, breaking ground for the westside farm, and addressing the ever growing list of the park’s needs. With all the work to be done and the threat still on the run however, there was no time to consider a vacation.

As Royce walked the grounds of Nuka Town with Gage, the park was bustling. Many of the raiders now had daily tasks and assignments to accomplish and if they didn’t at least appear busy in front of the boss, they wouldn’t get paid. The north side of Nuka Town was home to the kegging and uncapping process as well as the fountain that sometimes played host to Royce’s addresses or Redeye’s new found live performances. It was empty.

South down Main Street was a strip of prewar souvenir shops, curio displays, the arcade, and Cappy’s, the latter of which acted as the office for conducting his interviews. Several raiders were already milling around the outside and even a couple of the braver traders arrived, looking for a new business. Royce’s gaze evaluated the crowd as Gage went over the schedule with a disgruntled Plummer, assuring her that her business would not suffer.

Across the way, an unassuming white door reminded Royce of a project he would have to make time for if only to sate his own curiosity. That despite his own skills at picking locks, the offices of Nuka Cola’s very own founder and CEO, a potential bevy of information and wealth, remained locked and inaccessible for the time being.

“Is something the matter, Boss?” Gage caught him staring, contemplating.

“I’m waiting on some information.” Royce responded without facing his officer but kept his voice low. Just beyond the office was another doorway tucked out of sight and labeled for employees only with a warning to keep out.

“Aren’t you always?”

“Very astute of you, Gage.” Finally facing him, Royce smiled broadly. “But this is very particular information that is overdue and I’m growing impatient.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, and I know you will, but I don’t recall you asking me to track down anything in particular recently.”

“No.” Royce shook his head before lighting a cigarette for himself. “I assigned this task to someone else and I’m certain they’re either embarrassed by their own utter ineptitude or they’ve decided it’s not a pressing enough matter that they can’t just accomplish it at their leisure. Maybe take a chem break. Jerk one out. Have a nap. The usual.”

Gage followed Royce’s line of sight and frowned.

“Do you want me to send someone to wake him up?”

“Thank you, but no. Let him learn the hard way.”

\----

Two days had gone by since Royce had suggested a different approach and still Redeye had yet to come forward with the failure of his assignment. With his feet over the edge, Royce sat on the elevator platform overlooking the park from the front of the Grille. It was nearly dinner time and he found himself wondering if perhaps the songster would invite himself over, finding the meal a sort of security blanket against the lashing he would receive.

“Probably thinks he could suck my dick and everything would be okay.” he muttered to himself. Then, after some thought, confessing to himself. “It would work.”

He stood from his seat, shifting his thoughts to more practical concerns. How and when he was going to patch the gap in the Grille should be at the top of his priorities if for his own safety. Though it was nice to have something of a balcony, a stage from which he could address the raiders without having to leave the comfort of his suite. Perhaps a door was all he really needed.

As though underlining the thought, the doors from the dining hall flew open, spitting out the settler who served as his personal chef. The man was short and maintained a surprisingly round shape despite his meager living; Not fat, just oddly shaped. His stumbling panic was far from flattering.

“B-Boss!” he gasped, rounding the bar at the center of the Grille.

“The kitchen had better be on fire. Actually, it had better not, but that's the only excuse you could possibly have for barging in-"

“I'm sorry! T-They said it was important!” Across the cook’s cheek was a fresh cut, still bleeding. “They said if I didn't make s-sure you got the message, they would c-cut me up and serve me for dinner.”

Royce prevented a collision at the man’s shoulders, urging him to calm down. “Who is ‘they’?” Though he knew exactly who it was.

“S-Some Disciple. She had her face covered like most of them.” Sweat gleaned across his face and he continued to sputter, but his breathing began to ease perhaps with the sense of security the Grille and the Overboss provided.

“And what's the message?” Royce's eyes narrowed, pieces of the puzzle coming together.

“They wanted you to know they have Redeye. They have the radio guy.” He stuck a hand in Royce’s face, a folded scrap of paper now crumpled in his grip. “It's for you.”

Royce stepped back from the man as he unfolded the message and quickly read the smudged writing. Demands to meet and hand over a ransom in exchange for Redeye. Simple and predictable. Direct.

“I didn't read it…” the cook felt the need to absolve himself of suspicions. However, it was the consistent courtesy of privacy on his part that was one of the reasons Royce trusted him as much as he did. Enough to know he would be telling the truth. Enough to believe he had little idea that he was merely a pawn and his life had never truly been in danger.

“Listen, I’m going to call for an escort to take you to Dr Bridgewater and then home.” Royce gave the man a pat to the shoulder as he tucked the note into his pocket. “For now, stay put and don't worry about my dinner.”

“T-Thank you?” The generosity must have felt uncharacteristic of Royce. He didn't care. If there was one person you didn’t make enemies with, it was the one that handled your food. But he could feed himself later tonight. First things first, he needed Gage.

\----

“I told you getting involved was a bad idea.” Gage shook his head as he looked over the message.

“All work and no play makes Porter Gage a dull boy.” Royce chirped from behind the bar, pouring whiskey into two glasses.

“How exactly am I supposed to take that, Boss?”

“Just because you're not getting laid doesn't mean I can't.” One glass claimed for himself, the other slid in Gage's direction. “I have heard you bitch and moan so much about my personal sex life that I sometimes wonder if you're jealous. And if I said I hadn't ever thought about it, well I'd be lying and I don't do that. But this is neither the time nor place.”

Gage frowned, leaving the ransom on the counter to take up his offered drink. “Let's keep this professional, Boss.”

“Agreed.” Royce raised his glass before he knocked back half his drink.

“All I’m saying is that he wouldn’t be in this position- we wouldn’t be in this position if the two of you weren’t banging pots and pans together.” Gage took a seat at the bar, the stool creaking under his weight as he leaned against the counter. “And if he really means nothing to you, then this is pointless.”

Honest and heartless. It was admirable and made Royce chuckle. “You’re right. It would be pointless if it was about Russell at all.”

“Exactly. The whole thing is a trap.” Gage nodded.

“What do you propose we do about it?” Royce hid behind his drink, curious as to Gage's strategy and tactics in such a situation.

“For one, don't take the bait. Let them kill Redeye.”

“Wow.”

Gage frowned at the dry response and rubbed a hand against his face.

“I'm not saying you're wrong, Gage; He's probably already dead anyway. Either they never intended to keep him alive or they decided it was the best way to keep him quiet.” Royce finished his drink with a final swig between thoughts. “And we both know I am not going alone as they requested so even if, against all odds, Russell is still alive, they’ll just kill him when I roll up with more than a few guns.”

“You’re going, anyway?”

“Do you honestly think I should sit back and tolerate this bullshit?”

Gage gave an understanding nod. “It will definitely snowball if it’s not nipped in the bud.”

“Precisely. This isn’t a rescue mission. This is taking out the trash. This is a reminder that I graciously provided them with one free out before I took the reigns and they have decided that they would rather take the hard way. This is a pair of maggot infested piles of festering shit who think they can even dream of touching me!”

“And they'd be wrong.” Gage gave a single short chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. Often he seemed content to sit back and wait for orders, but he always began to light up at the slightest hint of action.

“Dead wrong.” Royce grinned in gratitude as he stood straight again. “But for tonight, I want you to go about your business. Do some shopping, get a drink- fuck go hit the arcade for all I care. But by the end of the night, I want a dozen and I want them discreet.”

“Can do, Boss. But what are you going to do?”

Royce tilted his head to one side and then the next as he gave the question some thought. Finally, he turned from the bar and made his way to the doors of the Grille, gesturing for Gage to follow.

“I’ll go over the details when you’ve got everyone together, but first I have a few meetings to tend to.” They stopped at the elevator across the dining room as they waited for the door open. “And I trust you’re smart enough that it should go without saying, but don’t be a dumbass and invite any Disciples.”

“Really, Boss?”

“Gage, the way things have been lately, I’ve had to make myself more than explicitly clear on far too many occasions. Forgive me for covering all my bases.”

“Alright, that’s fair. I’ll have your dozen together in two hours tops and we’ll meet you outside the gates. No Disciples.” The confirmation earned him a pat to the back from Royce.

“Bless you, Gage. The one man I can count on around here.”


	4. Ladies, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who exactly is in charge here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi strangers. Long time no see. I sat on this chapter for a long time.

Immediately south of the parks, beyond the Nuka World Transit Center, was a small town long abandoned and its name lost to time. Most of the traders and raiders simply referred to it as Those Ruins. Because of wandering packs of feral ghouls and crickets, they were considered a poor choice to settle and most anything of value had long since been scavenged. At best, the buildings and their nooks and crannies sufficed as a place to stash personal treasures such as the bubbling chem lab tucked away behind a makeshift wall on the front porch of a prewar bookstore.

The store was located on the northwest corner of the town and had been designated as the meeting destination for the Overboss and a few Disciples. Except they weren’t there. Down the block, a dilapidated cocktail lounge provided a view of the street leading out of the town and toward the park with just enough cover to camouflage the Disciples, especially in the dark and the rain that came down steady around them.

“We could have chosen some place with more of a roof.”

“At the very least we could watch from downstairs.”

“Both of you, shut up. We’ll see him coming from much farther from up here.” The senior-most Disciple was the only one of the three willing to sit directly in the rain, watching for a sign that the Overboss was making his way to their trap.

“What if he shows and he’s not alone?”

“You know the plan.” She frowned for emphasis before turning back to her watch. “After the trap is triggered, we wait. Just to be certain.”

The pair shuffled about the driest spot of the lounge, too anxious to remain posted at the defunct vending machine.

“I would much rather have slipped into his room at night and carved him up special.” One spit on the floor.

“There’s still the radio man at least. He deserves it almost as much.” The other chimed in with a sneer, clearly still bitter she had drawn the short stick to lure Redeye as the initial bait.

The two discussed their preferred methods of filleting human flesh and what they hoped to achieve with their victim as the leader rolled her eyes and then her neck. The Overboss sure was taking his time. Either he was less inclined to rush to his lover’s aid than they had assumed, or he was panicked and frightened. Watchful eyes had reported that he had appeared distracted as of late, lost in his own head before they had even sent along the ransom.

She smirked to herself, a shadow approaching in the distance. He had noticed Redeye missing before they had even laid their demands for his presence. He had become fraught with worry behind his cool, steeled exterior. And now he was approaching rapidly, stumbling up the road and through mud toward the old bookstore.

“Ladies.” She snapped her fingers and her companions eagerly joined her on either side.

“Is he drunk?”

“High?”

“Distraught. Just as planned.”

The figure reached the stoop of the store, dropping to all four and climbing up the steps like a frantic animal. He was quickly out of sight and then, just as quick, the Disciples ducked behind the remains of the wall as an explosion ripped through the stormy night. A fireball engulfed the porch and stoop, the upper balcony creaking before snapping and collapsing into the space below at the afflicted corner. When the Disciples peered back over the wall, it was certain; If the Overboss had survived the blast, he would have been crushed under the debris.

“Hold position.” the leader reminded her partners as she searched for any sign of a survivor or worse, sign of anyone coming to his aid.

Because of the rain, the wood was too wet and would not sustain the fire for too long. It would, however, last just long enough to burn whatever remains laid in the trap. They could bring the corpse, or pieces of it, back to Nisha as a trophy. As a victorious sign that the Disciples were the rightful directors of the parks. The superior raider gang that was not to be tested. A gang that would not tolerate the murder of its members for petty things such as theft from persons who could not even properly protect their valuables. Let alone murder performed as a mocking show in front of the entire park.

With no sign of the Overboss making an escape or backup rushing to the scene, the leader nodded. She gripped the edge of the wall to hoist herself to her feet and motioned for the other two to follow close behind. Stairs creaked with each cautious step they took, descending to street level and slipping out from the lounge. The distance between the two buildings was clear, not even a rat in sight. Smoke mingled with mist as the fire rapidly began to smolder under the subsiding rain, obscuring the details of the rubble but not the mass.

“Be ready.” They each drew their blades as they crept closer.

“Taking his scalp back to Nisha will be worth digging through the debris.” One of the Disciples delighted, a confident smirk spreading across her face.

“I’m going to use his blood as lipstick.”

“Both of you shut up.” The leader hissed once again, stopping their approach. “This man has already survived impossible odds. It behooves us not to get cocky until he’s well and truly dead. Understood?” She began walking again only when she received silent nods from the other two.

As they approached the bookstore, a small mass grew apparent in the grass some feet from the balcony. With blade temporarily sheathed, the Disciple leader quick-stepped to examine it. An arm, from the elbow down, marred and bloodied. A trophy.

“Ladies, I do believe we’ve caught ourselves a treat!” She scooped the arm up, cradling it gingerly in her own as though it were a stray to be claimed as a new precious pet.

Nothing was as invigorating as the scent of the spilled blood, the quickly fading warm of the flesh, the rippling texture of skin buckled and puckered as it scared. Scars that didn’t come from flame or shrapnel. Scars that lacked a distinctive collection of tattoos they should have hosted. Scars that resembled something more along the lines of-

“A ghoul!” she howled, tossing it aside. “It’s a trap!”

Gunfire lit up the street from the west and the trio bolted for the center of the town. They should have known better. Should have watched all sides. Should have set up barricades at the least. It wasn’t time for should haves, however, as a separate bout of gunfire rained upon the Disciples from the south.

“Thru the alley!”

They turned north, stumbling over broken lawn furniture and prewar dumpsters that had yet to rust away. The bricks scraped bare skin as the three attempted to squeeze through the narrow passage all but on top of each other. The alley opened up to a small square between the buildings, two other alleys offering choices for escape. It was a sheltered spot that had severed at some point as an attempt at a camp by a settler or perhaps previous raider. A space that allowed the three a moment to breathe, to assess.

“They’re corralling us!” One gasped, hands on her knees.

“So we’ll split up. You two go east, I’ll go north.” Undeniably sending the two as a distraction, the leader could only bank on the others being too panicked to notice. They complied with the plan, headed down some short steps to dart through to the next street as she hop-stepped toward her own alley.

More gunfire quickly followed, joined by screeches as her fellow Disciples were undoubtedly mowed down by the waiting ambush. She smirked, certain of her impending freedom, that she would make it back to the parks and no one would know that she had attempted to set the Overboss up for assassination. Until she came face to face with the man himself, stopping dead in her tracks before she had even emerged from the alley.

Chin raised, he cocked his head to the left and pulled the hammer back on his silver and gold .45. The asshole even had the gall to have a lit cigarette still in his mouth as he clicked his tongue several times.

“In a hurry?” He took a step forward, urging her back toward the square.

“You’re not going to get away with this. We’ll just keep coming for you.” She hissed as she backed into an old patio table. Scuffles came from her side as both members of the Pack and Operators dragged her accomplices into the opening. They had simply been wounded, shots to their thighs preventing them from running off.

“Oh no. No, no, no. This is not going to become some hydra bullshit. Cutting one head off and three more springing up, no. I don’t like that one bit.” Royce’s gun never wavered from its target as he spoke. “No, this is cutting off the infected finger and being better off in the long run.”

“Nisha herself will-” A Pack member smacked the offending Disciple in the head with the butt of their gun, silencing her.

“Believe me, we’re going to have a talk presently. In fact, I plan to take her a few gifts.” He holstered his gun, approaching the leader, his safety guaranteed by the other raiders playing bodyguard. She sucked in deep ragged breaths as he came face to face, only taller than her by the heels of the boots he was wearing.

“I don’t mean any physical violation. That’s not my style.” He assured without breaking eye contact as his hand reached down her thigh for her knife. It was large and curved, the blade of it arching out over the hilt and with a quick jerk he snapped the strap that fixed it to her person. She swallowed hard.

“Of course,” he examined the weapon lazily. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

There was no scream. Simply a gurgle and splatter as blood spilled from her throat and her body fell to the ground. He stood over her, grasping her hair firmly in one hand and began carving and sawing away at her neck until the head finally came away from her body. With one prize claimed, he tossed it to the closest Operator who sneered and held it at a distance. Then Royce turned his attention on the other two Disciples.

“Your knives, ladies.”


	5. Let Them Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't call Royce a knight in shining armor or a hero.

The rain had softened the ground, the concrete and tar that had paved paths for guests and employees alike cracked and worn over the centuries, allowing mud to prevail more often than Royce would have liked. His steps were swift yet heavy, sinking when the pavement had given away. Disciples blood streaked across and down his face, his hair still wet and strands clinging to his forehead. Still he charged forward, returning to Nuka Town through the south gate that faced the transit center.

It was arguably the most crowded gate given its proximity to the marketplace and the generally more rowdy social nature of the Pack. The short distance between it and the ruins of the unnamed town outside the parks was only a convenience. Most important was the impact it would make; Royce Martin, Overboss of Nuka World, determined and on a mission while covered in blood. Each raider, trader, and slave wisely slid out of his path and already hushed voices began to murmur. Members of the excursion who were no longer necessary slipped away and began to regale others with rumors of what exactly had taken place.

He hoped that the execution in the Amphitheatre was all he had needed. Nay, he expected his victory over Colter would have been enough to bring the gangs in line behind him. Clearly they, or at the very least the Disciples, had other thoughts. They needed one final reminder. So he let the rumors start. If they reached Nisha before he did, so be it. Before that however, there was a more urgent stop to make.

“That way.” Royce gestured ahead, up Main Street as they passed Cappy’s Cafe.

Gage nodded beside him before trotting ahead, a pair of Operators keeping pace. They slipped into an alley, ensuring it was clear before Royce caught up. The space was too small for the remainder of their entourage, so he stationed them beyond the alley on the chance that Disciples would retaliate sooner rather than later.

“Boss, you know there’s a good chance-” Gage lowered his voice, brow furrowed as he stood in front of an unmarked door, a full body barricade to prevent Royce from charging in.

“That he’s dead. Yes, I’m fully aware of that, Gage.” His chest and shoulders rose and fell with steady, focused breathing. “If you still think that such an outcome would break my heart, that I’m out here because of some bullshit reason like feelings that would have me acting irrational, then you’re just as fucking stupid as the Disciples.”

The raider nodded silently, twisting the knob on the door and pushing it open. First a crack, just large enough for a slender person to slip through, and then when no tripwire or tension trigger was apparent, wider still. With weapons drawn, one Operator was sent inside, and then the other. Gage took third in line and Royce followed last up the stairs.

At the first landing, the first Operator veered off, clearing a hallway and even shoving boxes aside in search of anyone or anything hidden. With no sign of concern, the remaining three continued up the stairs, repeating the process at the second landing. Their ascent ended at the third landing and the discovery of a guitar propped against the wall. Royce seized it, examining the scratches to the surface and the tangled mess of excess strings off the head that he recognized all too well. Better than he’d like to have admitted.

“Boss!” One of the Operators called from down the hall, beckoning with a frantic arm wave.

Royce quickly shrugged the guitar over his back as he marched over. The room would have been entirely unassuming if they hadn’t been thorough. If they had simply glanced inside, they’d have never seen anything but piles of boxes, cabinets, and general crap stored in the space. It would have seemed as though even the settlers declared it unfit to clear out and use as their own shelter before the raiders had arrived. But the stacks were deliberate and a path was made between them, weaving its way to their destination. On the floor laid a mattress, dingy and worn as any he’d ever seen. Upon it, shirtless, cuffed, and gagged, was Redeye himself.

“Russell.” Royce leaned down over the raider, hand pressed just under the corner of his jaw, checking for a pulse. “He’s still alive.”

There was no sign Redeye had been given water or food and every foul sign that he’d been left exactly where he slumped. It had been nearly three days and he was noticeably thinner, paler, and red marks around his wrists indicated he had struggled against the cuffs. It was no wonder he was unconscious.

“It smells like absolute shit in here.” Gage cringed.

“You try holding your piss for two days straight. You’ll give yourself kidney problems among other issues.” Royce muttered, removing Redeye’s gag before pulling a bobby pin from his bag to pick at the cuffs. Once Redeye was free, Royce motioned to the Operators and together they hefted him from the floor with their own uncomfortable sneers.

“Deal with it. I’ll have your suits cleaned as compensation. Just get him to Dr Bridgewater.”

As the two shuffled out of the room with Redeye in tow, Royce reexamined the scene. It hadn’t been a torture chamber. They hadn’t cut him up, didn’t seem to have so much as punched or slapped him. No physical violence, just neglect.

“An oubliette.”

“What was that, Boss?”

“They didn’t give a single shit about him. There were no guards, no traps. They just brought him here and forgot about him. So focused on getting to me.”

“Do you think there’s something more to it?” Gage stood, hands on his hips as he did his best to follow Royce’s train of thoughts.

“Maybe. Maybe not. The Disciples are usually blood thirsty, not scheming. But either they had other plans in mind or they were extremely sloppy.”

“Or they found him so obnoxious that they wanted nothing else to do with him.” Gage smirked though it was an amusement only he seemed to experience. “You were the prize, Boss. Why waste time cutting up Redeye when they could bathe in your blood?”

“So you really do think they were just that intent on getting to me?”

“These were just lackeys. They don’t have the finesse and panache or patience of more experienced members.” Gage nodded as he led the way out. “But if things don’t settle down and quick, it’s Dixie you can expect to see next. And then it might be too late.”


	6. Tête-à-tête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce visits Nisha to borrow a cup of sugar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked some buddies on a discord server how tall they headcanon Nisha to be and the result was 5'2". This keeps me humble and from abusing my own fondness for ladies being the same height or taller than Royce on average.

The next day was bright and sunny, the storm having pushed through and left the skies a brilliant blue. It made it easy for Royce to put on a proud smile as he hefted a sack over his shoulder and strolled out from Fizztop Grille’s reception area with a brief wave at Gage.

“Boss, hold up!” Gage held him up at the door, pulling him back inside so that no one could hear them. “Are you sure you want to do this alone?”

Casually, Royce rolled his shoulder, shrugging his advisor off.

“This was personal, Gage. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’re just doing your job. Unless, that is, you have some words you’d like to exchange with Nisha and the Disciples yourself.”

“What I’d like,” Gage leaned in closer, his volume dropping but holding no less sincerity, “is to make sure my Boss doesn’t go and get his tongue cut out and fed back to him for being cheeky.”

“Aw.” Royce cooed and gave the other man a pat on the cheek. “You care about me.”

“I care about the parks.” He straightened up, pulling himself away from easy reach.

“Now that is something we have in common.”

“You can’t do much for the parks if you’re dead.”

“Neither can you.” Royce dismissed himself with a mock salute before he pushed the doors open again with his back, all but twirling out onto the path outside.

The distance from the Grille to the maintenance entrance that opened up into the inside of the mountain and into the Disciples’ lair was minimal at best. In fact, there was a stairwell inside the mountain that led directly from the Grille above to the utility building below. It was however locked up and barricaded tight so as to minimize the access to Royce’s personal suite and thus he had forced himself to have to walk out and around, like visiting a neighbor.

Out front of the entrance, the Disciples kept troughs of blood, gore, and viscera rotting in the sun and elements. Some days, the scent of it would waft up to the Grille and Royce believed perhaps foolishly that he would eventually build up an immunity to it. As he approached, his sinuses stung and his stomach began to churn ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure if breakfast had been a good idea or was only going to make things worse. But he would have to suck it up and put the confident smile back on as he came face to face with a pair of Disciples sharpening their blades outside the doors.

“Good morning, ladies. Is your mother home?”

“What makes you think Nisha would talk to you?”

“Well, I am her boss.” Royce shrugged. “And I’m absolutely certain that she is expecting me sooner rather than later. But if you want to be the one that has to explain to her why the entirety of Nuka Town has busted down her doors, then by all means lock me out. Because I’m only going to give you this one chance to use the cobwebs in your skull that you call a brain.”

He smiled brightly, shifting the weight of the sack on his shoulder to emphasize his eagerness to get inside. It seemed to work, the Disciple realizing that having Royce on his own in the lion’s den was an easier battle than both of the other gangs rolling up behind him. She stood and took hold of the door’s handle, pulling it open and never tearing her gaze from him as he stepped inside.

“Thank you kindly.” Royce tipped his head.

Inside, he waited for the door to shut again before his eyes could adjust to the dim lighting. Candles and lanterns were scattered with little thought as to where they might provide the most effective light, wet blood glistening on the floor and even some of the walls. Pikes topped with heads and corpses of victims were on prominent display. The smell was bad outside because of the heat. The smell inside was bad because it was trapped and, against better judgement, Royce took a deep breath to steady himself.

Fizztop Mountain was hollow for the most part and the Disciples had plenty of room to spread out within it. The overhead space was well utilized as well. Before the war, the mountain housed a building that ran many of the systems for the Grille and the park as a whole including water and HVAC and if it were still functioning, Royce would be greatly concerned that the Disciples had constructed their own dwellings and cages upon it. Outwardly their lair appeared massive, oppressive, but truthfully it was bulked by an armature and nothing more.

Still, Royce had to climb to the top to meet with Nisha herself. Undoubtedly she knew he would be coming and undoubtedly she chose not to linger at the bottom, forcing him to make the majority effort. Forcing him to walk past virtually every surviving member of her gang as he kept a steady clip up the metal ramps that circled the structure.

By the time the ramp reached the first level, he had given up the gag of greeting each person as he passed by. None of them laughed. Not that he was looking for it. His jokes were always a very specific presentation meant to throw others off balance, to bring their guard down and provide him the air of being an enigma or at the very least slightly unpredictable. Absolutely intended to make it seem as though he was not intimidated, unfazed, and certain that because he was the one in control, he could afford certain amount of eccentricity.

At the peak of the structure sat a makeshift home of simple wood plank construction providing only enough privacy so as to be considered a place of Nisha's own. Royce had been inside only once before, when Gage had escorted him to meet the leaders of each gang. This time, she sat upon her couch, fingertips idly running back and forth across the back and gaze pointedly turned away from the doorway.

“Nisha!” Royce greeted with an obnoxious volume. “It's been so long. We missed you at the assembly.”

Though she wore a mask, a garish number made of metal and spikes that obscured her vision and perhaps even her hearing, the roll of her head gave away the motion of her eyes beneath.

“Savoy informs me that I missed nothing at all.”

“Oh? I thought it was great fun. It really got the gangs riled up for a common goal. Well, most of the gangs at least.”

“How is your little radio friend?” She purred. Royce shifted his weight, his free hand tucked into his pocket as though he were only briefly catching up with an acquaintance at the market.

“I don't have friends.” he responded dryly.

“You? Imagine that.”

“I learned a long, long time ago that I don’t care for games.”

“Neither do I.” she made a point to finally look directly at him, her mouth a hard line behind the fang like decorations of her mask. “Yet here we are.”

“Then it’s agreed!” Royce threw out a hand in relief. “Neither of us is having any fun so we can stop fucking around and get back to business.”

Nisha rose from her seat, covered eye to eye with Royce, likely with the expectation that he would take a step back. He didn’t. The only move he made was to lower the sack from over his shoulder, letting it hang at his side, alerting Savoy and another Disciple to defensively draw knives from either corner of the shack.

“You made a promise when you took the park under your leadership. That if we jumped when you said jump, we would have everything we wanted.” she hissed.

“And that is a promise that I do still intend to keep. But if, and only if, you jump when I say jump. And _sit_ when I say _sit_. That includes you, your toys, and all of your people whether they act on your orders or otherwise.”

Royce turned, setting the sack down on a low table in front of the couch. The bottom was clearly stained with blood though he assumed whatever mess it may have left on the furniture would only be hailed and welcomed as an aesthetic choice.

“Under your rules,” Nisha spat the word out, “we’re no better than the slaves. Our collars are just invisible.”

The comparison drew Royce back and he sucked in a breath, rolling his lower lip back over his teeth and his tongue dancing dangerously close to exploding with a rage the aftermath of which he was not equipped to deal with at the exact moment.

“Metaphorical. They would be metaphorical, which for you, is a blessing. Because unlike the traders in the market and the other poor souls unfortunate enough to cook and clean for us, if you can call it that, they won’t explode on you simply because you step out of line.”

He leaned over the sack, untying the rope that held it shut and reaching both hands inside. Rummaging briefly, he emerged with a head, the Disciple who had baited him with a threat to Redeye’s life. He rolled it from left to right and back again, examining the slack jaw and pale skin.

“Your collars may be only in your minds, but that does not mean I am not more than happy to take your heads if I must.” With that, he tossed the head to Nisha and left the other two in the sack.

“I thought you might like to keep them.” He smiled. “For decoration. And as a reminder that your usual style of threats is much more direct. So if you have any other issues with me or how things are being run, you can come see me yourself.”


	7. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redye is okay, guys. Maybe.

The world shook, rocked really. Once, twice. He couldn’t see it, exactly, but he could feel it. Definitely feel it. The weight of his body rolling one way before back. Could feel the pressure and the warmth of something pressing down on his shoulder. It wasn’t heavy. Just firm. He reached his hand up, taking hold and ceasing the rocking. His eyes opened to a stark white room tinged with just enough blue shadows to convey depth and break the optical illusion that everything was suspended in a blank sea of nothingness.

Overhead the lights hummed. The walls hummed. Everything seemed to hum. And ahead of him was himself. Younger, though not by much. Hair clipped shorter and face cleaner, less weary. Though behind the glasses he wore was worry.

“Dub.” his voice was as low as humanly possible. “Dub, you fell asleep again.”

“You should try it, Oh. It’s nice.” He smiled softly as he sat upright.

“It’s unnecessary.” Oh frowned as he looked him over, patting out creases in his uniform and straightening something around his neck. “If they see you like this-”

He stopped his other self, taking his face into his hands. It was soft. His nails were clean. He felt distinctly separated from the scene, like he was looking through a window. Like it was some sort of story being told. And yet he could feel it, a thrill filling his chest so rapidly that he might burst as he sucked in an excited breath.

“I had a dream.”

Redeye’s eyes shot open, the heavy leather tarp draped as a makeshift ceiling a stark contrast to the impossibly bright lights of his dream. His heart pounded in his chest as he frantically threw off a blanket, his legs flung over the side of a flimsy bed as he sat upright. Somewhere there were voices, chatter and barking that sounded familiar and yet distant. He dragged a hand over his face, nails chipped and grimey, calluses catching against every imperfection in his skin and tugging at the bags under his eyes, likely only making them worse.

He hated sleeping.

Hated the pull at the back of his hand, remedied by tearing the needle and IV from it. Maybe he could slip away without Dr Bridgewater noticing. It wasn’t as though she could go far chasing after him. The thought seemed to summon her as she stepped through the curtain that provided privacy for her resting patients.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Redeye flinched before mentally shaking it off, telling himself he was only imagining things. Oh wasn’t even a name.

“Yeah.”

Had he actually said it or was it just a breath? A drawn out sigh that still conveyed a meaning universally understood by other humans from mutual experience?

“You’re really lucky. I was told you were restrained for at least forty-eight hours without food or water. I’m surprised you weren’t more dehydrated than you were.”

Redeye groaned and stood up from the bed, teetering until the doctor steadied him from underneath. He wanted to push her away. He didn’t want anyone to touch him. To see him like this.

“I’m fine.”

“You are. Mostly. That’s what’s so amazing.” She raised an eyebrow, expecting some sort of explanation.

“I just had too much to drink. I mean, just enough to like, have a little bit of a hangover. I could keep drinking if I wanted.”

“I don’t recommend it. In fact, as a doctor I forbid it. But of course raiders will do as they please.” She let him pull away, watching as his balance returned and he could stand on his own again.

“Damn straight.” It lacked conviction. “Look, I don’t have any caps to give you for whatever you did so I’m just going to leave.”

She hesitated a bit and shook her head. “It’s already covered. Overboss Martin told me to just bill him.”

Redeye frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Seriously?”

“All I did was treat the wounds on your wrists and give you some fluids, anyway.” He started for the curtain and she followed, doing her best to provide doctor’s orders before he was out of ear shot. “You should try to stay hydrated! And change your bandages regularly!”

As he continued to march away, she fell behind, tethered to the corner of the marketplace that served as her clinic. The nearest exit put him directly on Main Street and from there it wouldn’t be long until he reached his studio. However short the trip was though, he felt every set of eyes staring at him the entire way. Felt each second tick by slower and slower until it seemed it would take years to crawl out from under their scrutiny and judgement.

And even as he slammed the door behind himself, leaning back against it, he could feel their gazes picking away at every little bit of him. Every single thing that might be off. Might be weird. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, fighting back against it all. If only he could drown in pitch black. If he could get away from it all and pretend it wasn’t happening. But the black went to searing white in a flash and he stumbled forward as he forced his eyes open again.

“No-” he huffed and caught himself on the chair at his sound deck. Sinking into it, he struggled to steady his breathing as his head hung back and he stared at the ceiling.

So what if he had fallen for such a stupid, obvious trap as a false proposition for sex? So what if he was so gullible as to think anyone actually desired him even if only for his connections?

“Fuck her.” It’s not as if he even knew who she was. It’s not as if she was even the problem. His face contorted and his eyes squinted as he fought back tears.

“Fuck her!” Violently he kicked a stack of books from his library trip over. If he had music, he could distract himself. If he could broadcast, he could tell a story, get lost in a fantasy. Could forget the images of his own face, dead under the seats on the tram, young and soft and full of concern in a white room. He could pretend that they didn’t terrify him as he fell forward, burying his face in his arms against the deck.

“I ever tell you assholes about the time I came to Nuka World?” he muttered, lips trembling as tears fell in soft pelts against his thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for this particular "arc" but I definitely have more in mind and I'll be working on it at some point. I'm kind of proud of having such a long and involved segment of Royce's (and Redeye's) story written out. I hope y'all have been enjoying everything! \o/


End file.
